The Christmas Swap, стр. 34
The rest of the afternoon and early evening vanished in a blur of event management business, as it often did when Chloe was in work mode and, before she knew it, it was time to head back to the Browning’s for Christmas Eve dinner and a well-deserved sit down.
If she was surprised at Archer’s confession about wanting to kiss her, she was even more so to find him waiting for her after the fair, casually perched on a low wall next to the now-empty field and holding a tall narrow gift bag.
“Hello, you,” he said, smiling at her.
“Hello to you, too,” she replied as she sat next to him.
“This is for you.” He handed her the bag and she peeked inside.
“Oooh, bubbles!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry it’s, er, a bit, er, ordinary. I didn’t actually plan on meeting a gorgeous woman two days before Christmas.”
Chloe grinned, both at his thoughtfulness and at being called “gorgeous”. “It’s lovely, thank you. You really didn’t need to get me anything. But to be honest, even though I’m only a few days in, I’ve drunk my fill of sherry. This will make a nice change for Christmas lunch tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “I’m fairly certain it’s a village custom for women of a certain age.”
“Oh, Cecily too?”
“Yes, that’s why I nipped down to the off-licence in Watlington this afternoon to stock up on some wine—and to pick that up for you.” He seemed shy about the gift, endearing him to her even more.
“Well, thank you again.” She absentmindedly twirled the gift tag attached to the bag, only then noticing that he’d written on it.
To Chloe
Happy Christmas
From Archer x
Her breath caught and an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, warmth wound its way through her as she stared at his words.
“So, Chloe, I never asked. How long are you here for?”
“Uh …” Chloe shook her head to clear it of her tumbling thoughts. “Oh, I fly home on the twenty-ninth.” Archer sucked his breath between his teeth and he grimaced. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that we shall have to make the very most of the next few days.”
“Oh.” It was all she could think to say.
“Come on, I’ll walk you back,” he said, standing and reaching for her hand. Yes, it was a two-minute walk, but it was the gesture that counted, and Chloe slipped her hand into his. Archer Tate was turning out to be one surprise after another. One lovely, wonderful, breathtaking, romantic surprise after another.
*
Chloe woke on Christmas Day feeling more refreshed than she could remember being in ages.
Maybe it was sleeping in Lucy’s childhood bed, which was so snuggly it was like being enveloped in a giant hug. Or it could have been the long but satisfying day as Co-chair of the Christmas Fair; she usually slept soundly after a large and successful event.
Most likely, though, it was because she’d drifted off to sleep with the thought of Archer’s kiss on replay. She stretched dreamily under the doona and luxuriated in the memory once more. Their rescue mission to retrieve Mrs Capel. The Capels’s romantic reunion when they returned to the village. How Archer had whispered in her ear and she’d turned to catch him watching her intently.
How they’d practically leapt at each other, without saying a word.
Then the kiss itself.
Oh, my god, that man can kiss.
Should she feel a certain way about the dozens of actresses Archer had kissed on screen? Or about the millions of women and men around the world who could only dream of kissing him—like she had until yesterday? Or that, until very recently, those lips were kissing a famous woman who Cecily had referred to as “that horrid girl”?
Chloe brushed aside every thought, deciding that she needn’t feel one way or another about Archer’s kissing history. The most important fact was that he’d kissed her and would very likely do it again.
Merry Christmas to me.
Her thoughts landed on what he’d said while they were sitting on the wall, about wanting to make the most of the next few days. She would have to find a polite way to wangle some time with Archer without upsetting the Brownings. They’d been so lovely to her.
The smell of toast wafted under the bedroom door and Chloe realised she was starving. She threw back the cosy covers and, shivering in the chilly air, stepped into her Uggs and wrapped herself in the fluffy robe she’d brought.
Then she ran down the stairs steeped in anticipation, just like someone thirty years younger.
As Lucy had promised, the Brownings were big on tradition and even though the traditions were different from her own family’s, Chloe had one of the best Christmas mornings she could remember.
Breakfast back home in Australia was mimosas, a summer fruit platter—berries, melon, pineapple and mangoes—and more prawns than the average person ate all year. In a tiny village in Oxfordshire, it was the traditional English breakfast, most of which, Susan told her, was sourced from the same local farm as the dinner on her first night in England. No wonder it was the best bacon Chloe had ever had.
After breakfast, and after Chloe convinced Susan to let her help clean up the kitchen, the three of them assembled in the front room, still clad in pyjamas and robes—something her own mother would never allow—to open presents.
Max had lit a fire and tuned the radio to Radio Three for classical Christmas music. Chloe carried a tray laden with a teapot, teacups, a milk jug, and a plate teeming with sliced Christmas cake, and as she carefully placed it on the coffee table, she noticed that the red candles on the mantle had been lit. The glow from their flames, along with the crackling fire and the stockings hung from the